


Top Dog

by Lukoni



Category: NCIS
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempted Murder, Flirting, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Reconciliation, Undercover As Gay, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lukoni/pseuds/Lukoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the person watching your back doesn't have anyone watching his back (and your profiler's an idiot...).  A slightly violent comedy of errors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrong Man

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many apologies - I have never posted an unfinished fic before, but I am hoping maybe, possibly, I can get some inspiration to finish by having the beginning out in the public sphere. (I do have the whole thing mapped out, just not written yet...) 
> 
> Inspired by me reading the umpteenth Tony-Goes-Undercover-As-Gay story that went pretty much like all the others do, and I decided I wanted to do something different. We'll see how that goes. Not set during any specific season (but obviously post-Ziva joining the team). Okay, and post-Jenny. 
> 
> Also, I selected the Rape/Non-Con warning to be on the safe side, but as far as our beloved agents are concerned, it is only attempted.

**Chapter 1**   


Leroy Jethro Gibbs smiled grimly to himself as he took a sip of bourbon. He probably shouldn’t be drinking while on duty, but in this case he was justified. Partly it was his cover, hanging out in the jazz club all night drinking liquor is much less suspicious than hanging out in a jazz club all night drinking club soda. Nothing says stalker like club soda. It might even be a rule. 

And then there was Tony. Gibbs didn’t think he could sit there and watch him flirt all night with every man in town without the soothing buffer of Kentucky’s finest. Even after four nights of trying to draw out a serial killer, Tony was still at his scintillating best. Smiling that dazzling smile, controlling the room like a pro. Gibbs was in a terrible mood and there was no point in pretending he didn’t know why.

They’d had something for a while there. Back before Kate, and even after. Despite Rule 12, Tony had managed to worm his way past his defenses with his irrepressible humor and fucking boyish charm. But then there was the explosion and the amnesia and the terrible, stomach-churning sense of loss all over again. It had taken a bit too long for him to remember, and then too long to come to terms with what they’d been together. And when he came back, he was different, and Tony was different too. Harder, more remote, if that was even possible, given how little of Tony’s true self he shared with anyone, colder. Whatever they’d had was gone.

But that had been years ago, and Gibbs had been noticing, lately, certain feelings returning. He caught himself smiling at some of Tony’s antics. Checking out his ass at a crime scene. Just the other day, the scent of Tony’s shampoo hit him in the elevator and he felt himself getting hard. 

And now he had to fucking sit here all night, making note of all the men approaching Tony, trying to win the privilege of stripping that expensive suit off him and fucking him into the mattress. He thanked God that it was only his first night of this. McGee had taken the first night, then Ziva and Abby had gone in as a couple, which Tony would not shut up about, followed by McGee again, but Ziva and Abby would be too conspicuous if they showed up again so soon, so it was Gibbs’s turn.

All evening, Tony’s smooth voice had come over the live feed loud and clear in his ear, easily catching and returning even the most pathetic of pick-up lines – some so old that even Jackson would have laughed at them. 

A shape drifted into his line of vision and he looked up to find a man with graying hair and a tie only a used car salesman could love gesturing toward the empty seat at his table. 

“Mind if I sit?” Gibbs glared and gestured to the iPhone in front of him. 

“Workin’” he grunted. The man shrugged and moved off. Gibbs thought he caught the trace of a smirk on DiNozzo’s face. This was the third man to have hit on Gibbs tonight. One was just a kid, put up to it on a dare, no doubt, by his inebriated friends in the far corner; the other was about Tony’s age, lean like a runner but with cold eyes. He’d already struck out with Tony. All three of them were documented on this damned phone along with all of Tony’s suitors. McGee had given him a crash course in switching from camera mode to the phony spreadsheet they’d set up to make it look like Gibbs was mixing business with pleasure. So far he’d managed to get trapped in some strange app menu only once. They used it also for an open line so he didn’t have to speak into a comm in his sleeve every time he wanted to communicate with the surveillance team outside. Gibbs could hear them refraining from commenting on his latest visitor.

He scowled in Tony’s direction and took another sip. The last thing he needed was to be mocked by his ex for attracting the dregs of the gay scene. He glared in his waiter’s direction, who came over with a refill without being asked. The boy knew the drill by now. A fast learner. 

By the time his drink arrived, Tony was dancing (very closely) with some hot dick in a suit. Probably a stock broker. Probably drove a Lexus. Automatic with the manual shift option so he could pretend he was driving a real car. Gibbs shifted in his seat and snapped a picture of the two. He was definitely in hell. This one had snagged Tony with a pathetic “You make my software turn into hardware.” It had taken all his skills as an undercover operative to keep from groaning out loud. The sound of McGee’s laughter in his ear had made him crankier, if that was even possible.

“That was even better than ‘Baby, I’m an American Express lover – don’t go home without me.’” McGee snickered. Gibbs glared at the world at large, and took another swallow of bourbon. 

He watched the dance come to an end and Tony return to the bar. The grinning agent was very careful to flirt and smile and give everyone the brush off. Their killer was zeroing in on the hard-to-get types. The ones everyone notices but no one can land. A role made for Tony. Gibbs felt a certain amount of pride that he’d landed him once, but it faded with the awareness that he’d fucked it up. But really that bomb had fucked it up. But ultimately the bomb was his fault for not realizing Pin Pin was an imposter. He’d pretty much never forgive himself for that probie move.

Four bad pickup lines and five dances later, another man sidled up to Tony. Dark hair, dark eyes, expensive suit. “Excuse me. I’m from the FBI.” A frown creased Gibbs’s brow until the man continued, “The Fine Body Investigators, and I’m going to have to ask you to assume the position.” It was Ziva’s turn to cackle in his ear. He hadn’t missed the tense look on Tony’s face for moment, probably thinking somehow the FBI had an op going and thought _he_ was the killer. They did that to Tony a lot. But he moved on smoothly, catching the man’s pass and returning it with interest. “Good boy,” Gibbs muttered grudgingly, low enough that the phone couldn’t pick it up.

After the “FBI” guy had been dispatched, another man approached. Tough looking, close cropped blond hair, not an ounce of extra flesh, dressed in a black windbreaker. Gibbs narrowed his eyes. “McGee?” he asked, sending the picture through. 

“Got it, boss. He was here last night, too. Still tracking down his identity. His ID is fake. Tony, see if you can get a fingerprint.” DiNozzo smiled and nodded, seemingly at something the man said, but Gibbs knew he got the message. He watched Tony buy the man a shot, watched them both drink theirs down (trying not focus on Tony’s throat as it pretended to swallow down the clear liquid), watched his agent slip the other man’s shot glass into his pocket without anyone noticing. 

He watched Tony charm the man, chat politely, drink companionably, and – wait for it, wait for it – there it was – the brush off. The man was pissed, but didn’t put up a fight. He slammed his empty bottle on the counter and stalked off toward the back. Gibbs raised an eyebrow but sympathized – only Tony at his slipperiest could piss people off like that. 

“I’ll check it out,” Gibbs said, making sure Tony was safely talking with the bartender before taking his eyes off his agent. He ducked down the hall toward the restrooms, and found Mr. Black Windbreaker pacing back and forth by the back door, chastising himself under his breath. As Gibbs approached he looked up belligerently. 

“Got a problem?” the man demanded. Gibbs held his ground.

“Do you?” At Gibbs’s drill instructor voice, the man visibly deflated. 

“No. No problem.” With that he turned toward the back door and slammed it open, disappearing into the alley. Gibbs grabbed the phone from his pocket.

“Ziva? McGee?”

“Got him, boss,” McGee’s voice came back. “He’s heading for his car. We’ve got a clear view of the plates – will have him traced in a second.” Gibbs’s shook his head, letting his adrenaline calm. “I’m going to the head,” he muttered. “Call you back.” Disconnecting the call, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

Once inside, he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down as he reached for his fly. Tony was an experienced agent, they had all the exits covered, there was no reason to get jumpy and blow their cover. The door opened behind him just as he let loose. Out of the corner of his eye he recognized the used car salesman, and braced himself for another brush off. What he did not brace himself for was a gun in his neck. 

“Don’t move,” the man ordered his ear, crowding behind Gibbs so he couldn’t move away. Gibbs froze, and for a moment there was silence except for his stream of piss, which shortly slowed then stopped. “Hands on the wall – above your head.” A million scenarios rushed through his mind, but he could not come up with one with even the remotest chance of success at the moment. He complied, and the man snapped a handcuff on one wrist, pulled that arm behind him, then grabbed the other with his gun hand, quickly securing it to the first. Gibbs tried to shove back and catch him with a head butt, but his assailant was quicker than he looked, and dodged, then slammed Gibbs’s face against the tiles. Over the ringing in his ears, he could hear Tony’s voice pipe up over the earwig _“Sorry, no raisins, no dates, no bananas.”_

The gun was back against his throat, so Gibbs gave up on resistance for the moment. “Guess you’re not workin’ now,” his captor sneered. Gibbs made no reply and ignored the creeping sensation in his skin as the man used his free hand to tuck Gibbs back into his pants and zip up. He tried not to picture the crime scene photos from the other victims, but it was hard to forget the bound, beaten, emasculated men with their genitalia shoved down their throats. He tried to console himself with the fact that the man’s picture was in their files now, so it was only a matter of time until he was caught. But it was little comfort when the man grabbed his shoulder and shoved him out the door, and through another door across the hall. It led to a set of stairs into a storeroom, which apparently had a secret door behind a set of moving shelves. The man flipped a switch, the thing swung open, and just like that they were out of the bar and in a tunnel. Fuck. Someone was going to pay for the lack of intel on this place. 

It was dark but the man knew where he was going, and soon there was another set of stairs, another door, and a dark alley with a dark car waiting for them. The man slammed him down over the hood and began feeling for his wallet. “Let’s see who I get to kill tonight, shall we?” Gibbs tensed waiting for the fallout.

“Well, well, Leroy. Leroy Je…. FUCK. You’re a fucking FED??? FUCK.” He yanked Gibbs up by his collar then slammed the butt of his gun against his temple, dropping him like a stone to the ground. Gibbs tried to gather his wits but it was a good hit. He couldn’t move, couldn’t quite see. Caught patches of sounds. “You ….for me!?.....Fuck…really think…that playboy…?.....SHIT.” The last was accompanied by fingers in his ear, pulling out his earpiece, cutting off Tony’s voice saying _“but if I did that, I’d have to kill….”_

A vicious kick to the ribs rolled him onto his back, his arms caught awkwardly under his body. Frantic hands searched all his pockets, pulling out his phone, his gun, his cuffs, all going into a nearby dumpster, followed by his watch, belt, tie and even his shoes. “Fucking FEDS,” the man yelled, hitting Gibbs again, a left cross square on the cheekbone. The man ripped open his shirt, sending buttons flying, checking for hidden wires and weapons. He ran his hand through Gibbs’s hair, dipped it into his underwear, felt around thoroughly. Finally satisfied, he straddled Gibbs and leaned down into his face. “It makes no difference. I’ll take you down like I’ve taken all the others – smug, superior bastards – then I’m out of here. I have no record – they’ll never find me.” Gibbs could finally focus enough to see the satisfied smile inches from his face. “I’ll enjoy fucking the arrogance out of you, pretty boy.” Strangely, his last thought before the man knocked him cold was, “But Tony’s the pretty boy.”


	2. Suspicion

“Where’s the boss?” Tony asked into his glass after he finally got rid of Raisin Boy. He scanned the club one more time and his eye snagged again on the empty table. 

“Head,” McGee answered promptly. Tony’s smile froze on his face. God, he was sick of smiling. Four nights of smiling and he was sure he was risking getting stuck that way.   
“That was five minutes ago,” he said, covering his conversation behind his hand. 

“Maybe he needs… um… you know?”

“On a _mission_ , McGee?” Tony felt his gut churn uneasily. Something was wrong.

“I agree with Tony,” Ziva chimed in. “That does not sound like something Gibbs would do.”

Putting his glass down, he winked at the bartender. “Gotta drain the lizard. Keep a cold one on ice for me.” Adrian, his black t-shirt tight across his chest, gave him a jaunty salute. He’d given Tony his phone number hours ago. The man had been the best thing to look at all night – except for Gibbs, of course. His gut twisted again and he headed back to the bathrooms.

Damn the man, for looking so fucking hot in that damned navy blue suit, for those damned blue eyes and smokin’ silver hair, for that damned piercing stare that had frightened half the men in this place tonight and turned on the other half. God, he’d been half hard all night just watching the man sit there and glower. 

And damn himself, while he was at it, for letting their relationship fall apart in the first place. Well, he smiled ruefully, it was more like blown up. And Tony had been young and angry and Jeanne Benoit was so perfect and he didn’t need Gibbs when he’d finally crawled back from his self-imposed exile. But that had been years ago, and things had gone oh so well since then.

And damn the man for…. not being anywhere in the men’s room. “MCGEE!” He triple checked each stall. Nothing. “He’s NOT here.”

“He hasn’t gone out the back,” McGee answered.

“What about the kitchen?”

“Negative, Tony,” Ziva confirmed.

“Well he can’t just disappear! I’m checking the ladies room.” He went down the hall and barged in, slamming doors open as fast as he could. “Not here either.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony thought frantically, tugging on another door in the corridor. Locked. “He came back after the creepy guy in the windbreaker.”

“Jonah Simpson. He left, Tony.”

“Could he have come back?”

“No. He’s still driving – we’ve got a Metro car tailing him.” 

“Okay…” Tony cursed under his breath and tried the last door in the corridor – also locked. “Wait, where’s Hideous Tie Guy?” He’d watched Gibbs prowl through the seating area after Simpson, enjoying the view of that delicious backside, while pretending to be interested in Karl, the red-headed lumberjack. He remembered laughing – ostensibly at Karl’s terrible joke about the rabbit and the ribbed condom, but it was really because Gibbs’s suitor number 3 was heading back to the john. He’d wondered how much he would give to see the man try Gibbs again. Tony’s face was grim. Apparently he had. 

How could someone subdue Gibbs – _GIBBS_ – in a bar full of people and disappear without a trace? He was about to head toward the stage area to search when something caught his eye. “This lock has been picked – it’s got fresh scratch marks.”

“On my way,” Ziva said, the clatter of her headset ringing in Tony’s ear. 

“Tony, is Hideous Tie Guy in a light grey suit with graying brown hair? Purple and mustard paisley?”

“That’s him.” Tony felt sick.

“We don’t have a hit on him yet. Running facial recognition through motor vehicles.” Tony strode back to the bar and flashed his ID at Adrian. “You got a tab started for the guy at that table?” he asked, pointing to where he’d seen Tie Guy. 

“He paid up, but his receipt’s in the register. I’ll get it,” he offered, seeing Tony’s determined face. Ziva went past on the way to check the locked door.

“What’s behind the door across from the men’s room?” he asked Adrian as he handed Tony the slip of paper.

“Basement storage room – we don’t use it much ‘cause it’s too far from the kitchen. Got some old lights and stage gear in there.”

“Look for a Christopher L. Bowman, McGee. Is there another way out of that room, Adrian?”

“No, it’s just a basement. I mean, there are a couple little windows at the top by the street, but that’s it.”

“I’m in, Tony,” came Ziva’s voice. “And your bartender friend is wrong. There is another way out.”

“Shit. McGee?” he demanded as he headed toward Ziva’s position.

“I’ve got him, Tony. Lives in Baltimore, self-employed tax accountant. Drives a silver 2002 Toyota Camry.”

“Put out a BOLO.” Tony was down the stairs and staring at a tunnel in the wall. What the FUCK?

“Already on it,” McGee confirmed.

“Great, now find out who the hell forgot to tell us that there’s fucking Scooby Doo secret passageway in the basement?” Ziva was gone, and Tony followed after her. Using his phone for light he headed down the tunnel and up a set of stairs.

“Tony,” McGee jumped in urgently, “I traced the boss’s cell phone – it’s…”

“Never mind, McGee,” said Tony. He’d emerged from the stairs and found Ziva standing by the dumpster, her gun in one hand, and a brand spanking new iPhone in the other. “I know where it is.” There was also blood by her foot.


	3. Vertigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At LAST! After starting over three times, I finally got the pacing under control. At least, I hope it's all right. Y'all have to be the judge of that. Many apologies for the slowpokery. Hope you enjoy poor Gibbs In Peril.

The low hum of tires on the road and the distant roar of the crowd cheering for a pop fly into center field greeted Gibbs as awareness returned. His breathing must have changed, for his captor spoke.

“Finally awake, are you, _Leroy?_ ” 

Gibbs didn’t bother to answer, instead assessing his situation. Hands cuffed behind him, ankles zip tied – he tested, probably 175 pounds – legs bent and crammed behind the driver seat. He really wasn’t built to fit in the back seat of a Camry. Seat lined with plastic to hide forensic evidence, like bodily fluids – such as the congealing blood matting his hair above his ear. Head pounding, vision mostly clear, bruises but no broken bones. He barely had time to register movement before white hot pain erupted in his chest. _And the dick has a cattle prod _, he managed to think as the tip seared his chest. Images from crime scene photos flitted through his mind. Ducky’s voice saying “they were tortured.” Pale, still bodies with dark burns, mottled bruises, and deep lacerations. _Genitals sold separately_ Tony had quipped. __

__The pain stopped and he lay gasping. Third out for the Phillies and the Nats were up in the bottom of the eighth._ _

__“You answer me when I’m talking to you, boy.” Great. It was one of those control freak assholes, then._ _

__“Sure thing, _Dad_.” he sneered back as best he could with his dry throat. His captor cursed with rage and hit him with another shot of electricity. When the mental dust settled, there was a man on first, Rodriguez had struck out, and Gibbs’s ears were ringing. _ _

__“You show me some respect, Leroy. You call me _Sir_!” Gibbs considered his response while Desmond hit a foul down the third base line. Ah hell, there really wasn’t anything to consider. He’d never been one to put up with anyone else’s mind games. Besides, an angry psycho was a mistake-prone psycho. _ _

__“Called a lot of men sir in my day,” Gibbs said, “but you’re not going to be one of them.” This sally was met, unsurprisingly, by another string of curses and a cattle prod in the gut. By the time it was done, Stammen was out but Bernadina had advanced to third. Gibbs thought the Phillies should really consider putting in a relief pitcher. He also had a moment to admire his captor’s aim. It couldn’t be easy to drive a car and reach behind you with a steel rod in the dark and pick out a straight line from sternum to navel. Gibbs noted with some concern that, along with his shirt, his fly was also still open from the rather invasive search he had endured earlier. This was not going to end well._ _

__“I fucking _hate_ you bastards,” the man spat. “You’re all the same. Think you can get away with anything because you’re good looking. Bat those fucking pretty eyes at someone and they just bend over for you, don’t they, Leroy?” Gibbs did not bother to respond to this, although he knew the consequences would be less than pleasant. But as much as it hurt, Gibbs knew full well that the damage would not be fatal. That always made the pain easier to handle. Instead he thought about where the dick’s gun might be. If he could locate that he could begin to formulate a plan. He really needed to get a better look up front. _ _

__This thought dissolved into agony as the prod hit just above the waistline of his shorts. The light blue boxer briefs Tony had bought for him way back when they were in a position criticize each other’s choice of underwear. What had possessed him to put them on today he’d like to blame on the fact that he hadn’t had a chance to do laundry in a while, but really it was Tony’s annoying voice from all those years ago telling him his suit hung better with them on. Whatever people said about him, few were stupid enough to ignore fashion advice from Tony DiNozzo, Gibbs mused through gritted teeth._ _

__Panting as quietly as he could, Gibbs noted with satisfaction that the Phillies had put Durbin in for Oswalt and the Nats were out of the eighth with no runs scored, still down by two. Despite his longtime residence in the DC area, Gibbs would live and die loyal to the Phillies. He had a flash of memory of his first trip to Connie Mack Stadium, his father passing him a hot dog and his mother smiling at him._ _

__“I said answer me when I ask you a question, Leroy!” Gibbs glared at the back of the man’s head but said nothing. “That’s what you boys need to learn,” his assailant continued. “Respect for others. You all walk around thinking you own the world, and you don’t. You fucking _don’t_! Do you understand?” Three balls and two strikes for Werth. “Answer me!”_ _

__“Not gonna happen,” was all Gibbs said in the smuggest tone he had. The reaction was immediate and agonizing, as the prod rammed into his genitals and he had to devote all his attention to suppressing a scream._ _

__He didn’t black out exactly, but his awareness must have dimmed because the Phillies were down two strikes by the time he could hear the radio again. His strength was waning. He had to find the gun before he was too drained to move._ _

__“You think you’re tough shit, don’t you, Leroy? That’s what the others thought too. But they all broke in the end. Begging me to fuck their tight asses if I would just end the pain. Begging to suck my cock. They weren’t so tough after all. And you won’t be either.”_ _

__“What did they do, steal your lunch money?” Gibbs asked, raising his head a bit to look between the seats. He caught a glimpse of the man’s thigh and hip. No gun._ _

__“FUCK YOU,” the man shouted, and reached back to hit him with the cattle prod. No shock this time, just straight up hit him across the temple with the metal rod. Gibbs grunted and closed his eyes against his swimming vision. “FUCK you. You don’t know what it’s like, being pushed around your whole life, your whole fucking life, because your eyes are a little too close together, because your nose is a little too big, your shoulders aren’t square enough. Like I can fucking HELP the shape of my goddamn shoulders?? FUCK YOU.”_ _

__Gibbs felt the jerk of the brakes, and knew the man had been gunning the engine during his rant, was trying not to get pulled over for speeding. He couldn’t tell where they were, but knew by the darkness they were well away from the city by now. Probably in Virginia, maybe heading toward the mountains. The man was running, keeping away from his usual haunts, knowing the police were on his trail. At least, they’d better be on his trail, he thought. His team was good, but if his resident psycho had paid cash, they’d be dependent on facial recognition, and that could take a while. There was a long drive to left field, and Gibbs briefly gave a thought to Harry Kalas. The game somehow wasn’t the same without him._ _

__“He knocked me over.” The man said, more calmly this time. “That first guy. Chris. He was out jogging, the sidewalk was crowded, and he tripped me trying avoid some stupid bitch with a fucking huge stroller. Didn’t even stop to look back. Just went on his entitled, prissy little way, like I was chopped fucking liver.” Gibbs remembered that one. Christopher Kane. Stock broker. Before NCIS got involved, but he’d read the file. Missing three days before the body turned up. His captor hadn’t perfected his technique yet. The latest victim, JAG lawyer Mitch Reynolds, had lasted a week._ _

__“Jake was next.” Jacob Pierce. Real estate agent from Adams Morgan. Had just married his partner of four years, Elliot, the month before his abduction. “Prime piece of ass and he knew it. Fucking cut in front of me in line at Starbucks. Just winked and smiled at the boy at the counter and the kid just fucking lapped it up like a whore on cum. The world revolved around old Jakey boy, at least till I got ahold of him.” While the man laughed, caught up in his reminiscences of following him to the jazz club and discovering a whole new source of pretty, privileged assholes, Gibbs inched upwards, sliding his feet forward till they slipped from the seat and he could swing himself upright._ _

__“Get fucking DOWN!” Screamed the man, snatching the prod and zapping Gibbs hard in the stomach. He doubled up as it burned into him, and he crashed back down to the seat. He was shaking when the man finally let up, but it was worth it. The gun was lying in the passenger seat, in easy reach of his left hand. A cheer went up as Dobbs hit a fly ball to center that was easily picked off by Morgan. Bottom of the ninth. The Nats had one last chance to try and save the game._ _

__“I’m going to have fun taming you, Leroy.” He insinuated the tip of the prod beneath Gibbs’s waistband and let it play against his cock and balls before administering a several short shocks. “I’ve gotten very good at disciplining bad boys.” Gibbs focused on the warm baritone drifting from the speakers. Morgan got a double off Brown in right field. The car swerved suddenly, and the man cursed, jerking his right arm back to the wheel. His captor concentrated on driving for a while, limiting himself to a verbal description of his plans for his recalcitrant victim. Gibbs used the time to feel around behind him for a seat belt. He’d lost any hope of picking the lock of his handcuffs when his pockets were emptied, but there were other ways to get out of the things, as most cops knew. It was harder with the new belt design, but there was still a way._ _

__“…a few hours with this prod up your ass and you will be sucking my cock like a kid with a fucking lollipop…” Gibbs brushed the metal of the buckle with his thumb. It was near the small of his back and he shifted slightly to get in a better position. “…look so good kneeling at my feet while I piss on your pretty fucking face…” He poked a finger through the plastic and eased the buckle through, locating the square hole that the latch should hook into. This time it would catch the rivet holding the chain to his cuff. Better use his right hand, so his left would be undamaged to get the gun. Getting into position to pop it, he paused as he heard, “…can’t believe you sent that puppy in to try to trap me.” Despite the need to get the hell out of here, Gibbs was curious in spite of himself._ _

__“I mean, sure, he was hot fucking as hell. And I’d do him in a second. I’d fuck him long and slow for hours, like who fucking wouldn’t?” Gibbs felt a growl rise in his throat at the thought of that man’s hands on Tony, but otherwise held his tongue. “And he’s used to getting his way with his looks, for sure. We all would if we could. But he wasn’t top dog in the room tonight. Sure, everyone in the place wanted him, but he only wanted one person. And that was you, Leroy.” Jethro’s eyes widened briefly at the suggestion. Tony’d been at his flirtatious best, and Gibbs hadn’t seen any sign of interest coming his way. Surely it had been Gibbs ogling DiNozzo all night long. That’s how he remembered the evening, anyway. A bunt and Zimmerman was on first._ _

__“You think you’re so smart. Think you know what makes me tick. Well, you were wrong, Leroy. How does that make you feel? Huh, Leroy? FUCKING WRONG. Your boy had them all dancing on strings like little fucking puppets, but he was enjoying it – it was a game he liked and liked to win, but he respected his opponents, or at least pitied them sometimes. He didn’t dismiss them like they were less than the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. That was Chris and Jake and Connor and Mitch. And you, Leroy. You treat your boy that way? You crush his soul like he’s trash? Huh, Leroy?”_ _

__He gasped as the prod hit him in the throat, causing his jaw to slam shut and cutting off his air. As he writhed on the seat his thoughts focused on Tony. For a while, after his return from Mexico, it had been a toss-up who had treated who more like trash. It was an unspoken contest between them, each determined to prove he was more indifferent to the other. Things had begun to mellow after Jenny died. She’d driven a wedge between them and Jethro’d never been able to figure out if she’d done it to hurt him or just to get Tony under her control. He couldn’t blame her for that – Tony was a valuable asset._ _

__The prod was withdrawn just as his vision started to white out and he lay coughing on the seat, tasting blood. Must have bitten his tongue. By the time he could breathe comfortably, Willingham was on his fifth foul, and there was speculation that they’d call Herndon to the mound. One out, two men on base._ _

__“I _will_ get you to answer, Leroy. You think you’re tough as nails, but eventually you will be pissing yourself to please me. I will be your world, Leroy, your lord and master...” Gibbs repositioned his wrists, getting them back in place after the last shock. Now he just needed to distract the ranting maniac so he wouldn’t notice the sound of the metal snapping. “…can’t wait to ram my cock up your fucking arrogant ass. You’re gonna get so hard for me, Leroy. They always do, begging their master to ream them till they spew…” _ _

__“Oh, why don’t you just give it a rest, already,” Jethro interrupted. He braced his arms in position, and waited for the apoplexy to set in. It didn’t take long._ _

__“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?! YOU FUCKING WORM! I am going to fucking cut off your dick and fucking FEED it to you, you fucking ASSHOLE!” The prod caught him right on the left nipple and he let himself scream as he jerked hard with his right hand. He felt the metal give and rode out the rest of the shock. It was the longest yet, burning his flesh and pushing him close to unconsciousness. But it was worth it. His hands were free and his captor distracted. Willingham was out, and Herndon had been called in to face Bernadina._ _

__“That’s right, Leroy. You’re gonna scream for me till you can’t scream anymore,” his captor promised, sounding pleased for once at his victim’s reaction. He slid the tip down Gibbs’s belly and back into his groin. He teased with a few small shocks before letting go with a searing blast right beneath his cock where it met the scrotum. Gibbs was ready, bucking his body and screaming again, this time covering his kicking the door – with his feet positioned on opposite sides of the armrest he snapped the zip tie in one quick movement. He couldn’t stop the groan that left him as the prod was withdrawn. His captor laughed. The crack of a bat sounded as Bernadina hit a foul up behind home plate. Two and two. It occurred to Gibbs that he still hadn’t been to a game at the new park in Philly – named for some damned bank. He missed the days when ball parks were named for people not corporations. Maybe he could grab a game with Tony at Nationals Park. It was only a short walk from the Yard, after all. He’d even root for the Nats. Especially if they were playing the Mets._ _

__“You scream real pretty, Leroy.” Gibbs noticed the slightly husky tone and pried his eyes open. From his skewed position he could make out the unmistakable motion of a man rubbing his own crotch. Turned on from his victim’s pain. That was fine with Gibbs. Distraction was a weakness he would be happy to exploit. He could just see the corner of the man’s eye, watched it closely, waited. “Oh yessssss,” the man moaned, “I will keep you screaming till you beg for mercy and then some. I can’t wait to have your smart mouth wrapped around my cock…” The man groaned and let his eyes drift closed, picturing the sight. Gibbs silently snaked his arm between the seats. In an instant the gun was in his hand, he was sitting up behind the driver’s seat with the barrel pressed to his captor’s head._ _

__Adrenaline kept his own head clear as he quietly ordered the man to pull over. Their eyes locked in the rearview mirror. Gibbs’s gaze was uncompromising, his companion’s murderous. Each determined not to lose. They held there, silently, for a moment, interrupted only by the crack of a bat. The man looked to the side for an instant then smirked back at Gibbs, and Gibbs knew he was screwed. The man yanked at the wheel, there was a screeching of tires, and then an absurd moment of near silence as they went airborne to the roar of 40,000 fans in Washington, the announcer promising it was going long, followed by a deafening crash and the world turned upside down._ _

__It was an infernally irritating laugh that brought Gibbs briefly back to his senses. He lay on his back in the grass, confused, damaged, but with a gun in his hand. He tried to remember why it was in his left and why it wasn’t his Sig, but then the sound of unsteady footsteps joined with the laughter and something told him he had to stop it. Squinting into the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a slightly hunched form moving away from him. He fired without thinking, heard a thud and what sounded like a woman’s scream, and he knew his mission was over and he could rest now._ _


End file.
